


Did the Duck Come Before the Egg?

by moon_opals



Series: Duck Family Feels [2]
Category: Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Bonding, Dadnald, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Freeform, Gen, Parenthood, Pre-Canon, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 19:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13277886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: It's the existential question all parents fear. Donald is not an exception.A collection of Duck Family short stories for the old and new.





	1. Did the Duck Come Before the Egg I

It was not an unusual day, not in the slightest.

Another board meeting kept Scrooge at the money bin later than usual. Uncle Donald retired to his bed having returned from an exceptionally early job, and slept on the houseboat. Mrs. Beakley had spent the day running errands, leaving Webby behind to guard the house. Not that the house to be guarded.

Yes, the day was quite usual, quite normal for all they had been through as of recently.

Not wanting to disturb Uncle Donald, who was again sleeping in his bed in his house boat, the boys and Webby occupied their day in the mansion, which was an extraordinarily easy feat.

Louie fell back on the sofa, "I’m bored."

"Seriously, bored?" Webby lied on the carpet with her right wing extended. Beside her was a First Aid Kit, and Huey, who administered the routine bandage wrapping, "We just finished playing Black Ops: Winter Has Come, and we were getting ready Lunar Madness!"

"Yeah…but seeing Huey's busy wrapping your _not broken_ wing, I'd say lets chill."

What he didn't say was that the three of them were completely exhausted where Webby's adrenaline was barely nicked.

"How about a nap?" Huey finished the bandage wrapping and patted her arm reassuringly, "It's always good to put my exemplary First Aid badge to work."

"She didn't break her wing," Louie groaned, "I don't think she even sprained it."

"But we don't want Mrs. Beakley getting upset over it," Huey replied easily, "or too upset considering it is definitely sprained."

He glanced down at his patient whose sheepish grin held him back on his usual scolding, "It's fine, really. Granny's used to this. Last time I missed a grab when climbing to my bedroom, and broke my leg! She was totally fine with it."

"How fine is fine," Louie asked.

"She couldn't get that mad seeing all I could do was stay in the mansion." Webby shrugged, "The worst I got was no target practice for a week, but like I said – broken leg."

Other than that, their day went along swimmingly. The children went into the television room, where Louie had control of the remote after a minor tussle with Dewey. Louie recline on the left end where Huey sat on the right. Dewey rested his head on his older brother's lapped, and Webby went into the kitchen to pop popcorn.

"It isn't the microwavable kind," she declared proudly.

"Wait, so you like pop it old school?" Dewey tilted his head in confusion, "On the stove?"

"It tastes so much better," and reassured them she had done this many times before, which was true. It was one of the few treats her granny allowed.

They heard the popping kernels in the distance, and lied about as Louie flicked through the channels.

It wasn't until Webby had returned several minutes later, handing them a large bowl of buttered popcorn, while she sipped a glass of water, and they had agreed on the Disney channel that the question was asked.

Good Luck Paisley played in the background, and Louie stared, "Remember that lady at the mall carrying that egg at the mall?"

"H'yeah, it was weird," Dewey said.

Huey looked at them with a smile, "I thought it was cute! The mom had it snuggled in its little egg cozy."

"Oh yeah, they use special materials for those cozies," Webby chewed, "they're really soft. Granny still has mine."

"Yeah, yeah, but where did it come from?" 

Dewey sent him an obvious duh look, "What are you talking about? It belonged to the mom."

"But where did she get it?" Louie grabbed Dewey's leg and pushed it to the side, "Where does the baby come from?"

Huey faltered, "Babies come from eggs…"

"And you say I'm repetitive," Dewey chuckled.

"So where do eggs come from?" Louie held Dewey's leg and shot them a definitive look, "The baby comes hatches out of the egg, so where the heck does the egg come from?"

Webby pushed another handful of popcorn into her mouth, "And so, this reference interview has finally produced the real question."

Dewey rolled his eyes, "You've spent too much time with Quackfaster."

"That's easy," Huey prepared to explain, "eggs come from…wait…hmm…," he trailed off, his index finger folding in realization.

"Where do egg come from," Dewey shot up quickly, eyes wide, "does the duck come before the egg, or is the egg before the duck?"

Louie opened his arms in exasperation, "I know right!"

"I know where they -," a hand slapped across Webby's beak, and their heads turned to her.

"Wait, you know?"

"Of course Webby knows!" Dewey glared at Huey, "And you know too, don't you?"

Webby moved his hand from off her mouth, "You're telling me they _don't_ know?"

"I didn't think they were ready to know!"

Louie and Dewey stared at their sister-friend and oldest brother with rising suspicion, and surprised aghast. They knew something they didn't, and Huey had determined it was too much for them to know?

"Wait, wait, no fair!" Dewey hopped on the sofa, "You can't hold out on us. Tell us the truth, where do eggs come from!"

"And how do you two know away?"

They shared a brief look before answering.

"Junior Woodchucks bird nesting project."

"Granny told me." She shrugged before stuffing her mouth with more popcorn, "And I read a lot. I'm sure you can use your phone's Wifi to find out."

"Webby, no!" Huey cried, and when Louie reached for his phone, he launched himself on his younger brother, grabbing the phone from his hand, "No, no, no, they must stay decent!"

"What is wrong with you!" Louie yelled, "Give me back my phone."

Dewey stared, "It has secrets, doesn't it? Secrets to the universe."

"Nope." Webby answered, "Just secrets to where eggs come from, and really, you can't just not tell them, Huey. They'll figure it out anyway."

"Not on my watch!" He clutched the phone to his chest. He thought of his next actions, of his reasons why, and shook his head, "I'm not going to be the one to tell them!"

"Fine!" Dewey stomped on the floor, "If you don't want to, we'll ask Uncle Donald!"

"Yeah, he'll tell us," Louie stuffed his hands into his hoodie and glared, "he won't be able to dodge it."

Huey stared at his brothers, and he stared at Webby who had retrieved the remote and changed the channel. It appeared he was alone in this one.

"Actually, that isn't a bad idea." Huey threw him back the phone, "Let's ask Uncle Donald. It's already three, and he should be up by now. You ask him, and he'll tell you."

Dewey gave him a look, "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Louie grabbed his phone and stuffed it back into his pocket, "No jokes, no long winded speeches of responsibility?"

"Ask Uncle Donald, and you will know." He returned to his seat and grabbed a handful of popcorn, "But I'm outta this. You can do it on your own."

It didn't taken them a minute to leave the television room, crashing and bumping into each other as they raced to the house boat where their uncle slept.

"That's going to go really bad, you know?"

Huey smacked his lips and reached for more popcorn, "Oh, I know, but I wasn't going to touch that with a ten foot pole. Junior Woodchuck Guide rule number 517, _When in doubt, consult an adult_."

"We'll get the pillows and ice cream ready, won't we?"

"Oh absolutely," he pointed to the television, "WWC?"

"Gosh, I love the Wombat Wresting Channel!"


	2. Driving Downtown

On a normal day, the drive to Grandma Elvira was a peaceful two and a half hours. 

Donald connected his phone to his stereo and expected to spend those two hours in a cloud of musical bliss.

Not today.

_“I’m hungy!”_

_“I’m tired!”_

_“Are we there yet, Unca’ Donny?”_

Thirty minutes in, Dewey wiggled out of his car seat and climbed over into the passenger’s seat. Donald swerved into the nearest gas station to strap him back in. Forty-five minutes later, Louie started to cry, and that was fair, his refusal to nap always brought tears.

When he screamed, he  _screeched_.

Huey asked cute but endless questions.

“What that Unca’ Donald?”

“A tree, Huey.”

“What’s that Unca’ Donald.”

“A pigeon.”

Dewey tried to slap the window, “Oh! Doggy wear bowtie, stop, stop!”

Donald did not stop. Grandma expected her grandson and great grandbabies. He had no intention of disappointing her despite the burning traveling throughout his skull. 

It was tiresome to know the boys were suspiciously resistant to the car's ability to lull them to sleep today, but the drive wasn't that long. All Donald could do was sigh and send them weak looks in the rearview mirror. 

“Unca’ Donny?” Dewey asked as he fought with his car seat, “Wanna go home. No see Gran-Gran.”

“Aw, why not?” He chuckled, “Grandma wants to see you.”

“Cuz I sweepy, and wanna woosh.” He moved his warms in wave motions, “Woosh, woosh.”

“Grandma lives on a farm, remember?” A small smile played on his lips, “There’s no woosh, woosh, and it’ll be fun. You’ll get to see all the farm animals while I go to the store.”

"You go to store," Huey asked.

“It’s more like a Farmer’s Market. Gotta make sure Gus stays on task.”

“So we stay?”

“You’ll stay with Uncle Eider and Aunt Lulubelle. They’re so excited to see you.”

“So…we be alone?”

“No Unca’ Donald?”

Most children would not have grasped the plan as quickly as Donald's boys. Most children simply accepted what their parents told them without question, especially children that were not yet able to form full sentences, but Donald's boys were the unfortunate exception.

"Oh no."

He heard a sniffle. A single sniffle was followed by another, and the second sniffle was followed by a third. Three sniffles turned into nine, and nine sniffles multiplied into twelve. In less than five seconds, the sniffles had transitioned to outright bawling, screeching sobs in their car seats.

There wasn’t a gas station in sight. 

The tears and snot were going to leave streaks.

“Boys!” His instinct wanted to turn around and tend to his screaming children, but a greater instinct screamed at him to stay on the road, “What’s wrong, sweethearts? What’s wrong with Uncle’s babies?”

“Unca’ Donny gonna leave!”

“We go too!”

“No stay with ‘dinky animals!”

"Count your breaths." He whispered, "Count your breaths."

He forced a smile into his voice, “Boys, it’s going to be okay. Grandma and I won’t be out long, and Uncle Eider is baking his lemon pie. Do you remember the tasty lemon pie we had a few weeks ago at dinner?”

Louie wiped his eyes, “It yummy.”

“Well, Uncle Eider made it just for us.”

Huey hiccuped, “We get pie?”

“As long as you’re brave little boys,” Donald grinned.

“We bravest!” Dewey kicked his legs, “We brave Unca’ Donald!”

“Good, good!” Donald stared into the rearview mirror, “Now, no getting out of your car seat. We have to be ready for pie!”

They chimed together in excitement, and Donald sighed in relief.

Five minutes their good, harsh cry lulled them to sleep. Drool slipped off the side of their mouths as their heads bobbed to the side. 

Donald enjoyed the remaining minutes dancing to a low volume Mercury mixed with toddler snores. 


	3. Hold Tight

Scrooge McDuck did not get injured.

Often.

Scrooge McDuck did not get injured _often_. The occasional concussion, broken arm, and sprained wrist graced his body throughout the decades. He splintered them to the best of his ability and carried on until he received proper treatment.

He never claimed his handiwork was comparable to a physician's. The physician always tittered over him, annoyed - relieved at the less than expert work he accomplished to prevent further damage to his injuries. 

It'd been years since his last concussion, broken arm, and sprained wrist. To spite the forgotten years, the inactive decade, the chances of injury had increased dramatically. 

“Scrooge!”

He felt the wind knock out of him when he landed on his back. A minor misstep led to a catastrophic fall, which was not as catastrophic as it could’ve been.  He heard the yells calling down from above, the worried sets of eyes peering over the cliff. Only one ventured to meet him, waving off assistance and sternly telling them to remain where they were.

Scrooge hadn’t seen Donald move as he did in years. His nephew's agility was a long rested memory. He whipped through the cables, gliding down to the very bottom. He wasn’t graceful, Scrooge observed. He wasn’t the epitome of gracefulness. He got the job done, and suddenly, a pair of strong hands clasped around his shoulders.

“Scrooge,” he said.

Why did this feel familiar?

“Scrooge!”

It wasn’t like the world was dizzy. It wasn’t. His head didn’t spin. With his spectacles, his vision was perfectly fine. Even so, Scrooge stared at his nephew as if he’d grown a second head, or was seeing something that wasn’t _exactly_ right.

Gone was the sailor uniform of black and white, replaced with a faded green vest and a button down blouse. His sailor hat was mysteriously absent, and where it should’ve been was a small, bowler hat.

_“Uncle Scrooge…”_

_“Scroogey, mah boy, Scrooge, are ye’ alright?”_

“Scrooge, come on,” the arms lifted him without restraint. They were different from what he remembered. Child hands they were last time they had gripped him, trying to hoist him on his tiny back as Scrooge played dead on the Persian rug.

“Are you okay?”

“Come on, speak to me,” Donald’s voice didn’t labor under the weight, and Scrooge’s silence was more shocked than confused, or annoyed as Donald perceived.

“Fine, don’t say anything and make me worried,” he snapped and hoisted him on his back, “Webby, throw down the rope, we’ll make a lever or something!”

Scrooge shook his head. Donald hadn’t been a boy in years, a child longer than that, but the image of the young duckling dressed in his bright blue sailor suit lingered. 

He blinked confusedly as Donald tied the makeshift lever around his torso. 

“Wait, what about ye?” Scrooge slurred, “Donald, what are ye’ doing?”

Donald knotted the rope stiffly, “I’ll find another way out.”

Disoriented, Scrooge couldn't fight the rope or his nephew, and the lever began to pull him higher and higher. He watched as Donald's stern expression turned into a little dot below, a tiny spec in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scrooge didn't forget Donald inherited more than Hortense's temper.


	4. Fixer Upper

“Ya’ know ye’re really bad at this.”

__“I know.”  
  
Louie skated back to the pen to sit on the hard bench, staring outward dejectedly. His plans were always awry at some angle, always tilted to fit his needs, but this had not gone at all like he had planned.

He sniffed loudly, wiped his eyes, and stared ahead at the treacherous ice.

Louie was bad at most things.

He knew this.

Had irrefutably accepted this.

Yet, for some reason beyond him, he did not want to be bad at _ this _ .

“Come on, we’ll try again,” Gosalyn skated to the pen, resting her elbow on the glass.

“No.”

“Oh come on, kid, you weren’t that bad!”

It was then Gosalyn heard a sniff. Her eyes widened, shoulders stiffened, and she gasped loudly, “Wait, are ya’ crying?”

“No!” Louie threw the helmet to the ground, wishing Huey was here. Huey was good at these kind of things, and he was in need of a hug.

"Ain’t nothin’ to cry about.” Gosalyn hobbled up the steps and sat next to him, “Look, I wasn’t the greatest hockey player when I started either.”

“You weren’t?”

“Nah…well…can’t lie I was super good a it.” Louie’s hopeful expression shriveled, “But I still needed to practice, and I think that’s what you need right now is practice. You just started.”

“You sound like my uncle.”

“Heck, I sound like my dad.” She rolled her eyes, “And yeah, it’s possible you just really suck at hockey, but if ya’ do, ya can find something else you’re good at.”

“Baking.”

“What?”

Louie sighed, “I’m good at baking,”and he shrugged, “and persuasion, which is basically the same thing. But my family is so…”

“Rich?”

“Active!” His bill serrations plucked irritably, “Have you seen my brothers? My uncles? Webby’s a ninja in a lilac dress, and I’m not…”

Gosalyn shrugged, “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with baking in my opinion, and you don’t have to be this super Indy Jay adventurer.”

“I don’t?”

“Nah…though my dad would like for me to be less aggressive,” she used air quotes on the last word and grinned cheekily at him, “and I get it…I can be kind of pushy.”

“No pushier than Huey.”

“Heh.”

In the silence, the ice was amazing to see. It wasn’t as mesmerizing as an over frozen lake in the park, but it still did the trick.

“So, are ya’ gonna try again?”

Louie grinned tiredly, “Sure, why not?”


	5. His Sister's Keeper

 “I love you.”

Donald's body wasn't wide enough to block the entire door frame, not that she'd let him had he tried. He waited there, arms folded, expression resolute.

Hearing the uncharacteristic (but always characteristic to her) stern tone, Della stopped packing. _Low blow, Donny._ All he had to do was muster those three, little words to gain her undivided attention. Her shoulders slumped. Her dark eyes gleamed. She recalled their childhood -- a leash to hold her at bay when her escapades became too daring, too dangerous as he put it. She'd cease in her actions, stop in her tracks, look at him with yearning eyes, and concede.

But they knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Not this time.

“Donald.” She opened her arms, “I have to do this. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, and this is my last chance. There isn’t another one after this.”

“What about your family?” He stomped up to her, finger jabbing into her chest, “What about your boys?”

“What about them?”

He wanted to claw his feathers out, “You’re family is happening right now, and you’re missing this! Huey said his first word yesterday, and you weren’t there for that!”

“He’s a _baby_ , Donald.” She folded the last of her shirts into the duffle bag, lifting it over her shoulder, “He’s going to have a lot of firsts that we’re going to miss. I’ll see his seconds and thirds when I get back.”

“That isn’t the point,” grabbing her bag, he swung her back around, and faced her surprised expression before it transitioned into annoyance, “you’re missing out on your family, on your children. You don’t get to leave and not -,”

“I’m coming back.” Jerking the bag back, the dark gleam in her gaze brightened, “Of course, I’m coming back, and of course, I want to be there for the children. But there are grander things out there.”

Donald pulled back, aghast, “Grander than your children!?”

When she looked at him, there was everything and nothing he remembered of the woman he had grown up beside. It wasn’t even a shadow of her former self but a shadow that was always her.

“I love them, Donald.” She smiled reassuringly at him, as if her smile (which was always reassuring but rarely considerate) would be enough to pacify him, “And I love you too.”

Donald froze. Very gently she extracted his hand from her bag and walked out of the door. Her gaze didn’t turn back for a single second, resolve guided her to her plane, and she didn’t come back. 

“And I love you,” the air echoed.

They used to be enough. _  
_


	6. Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huey realizes Donald had a life before them.

A punctual child, Huey went to bed on time, usually five minutes early so he could rise with the sun to start a new day. Once the Sun Chaser landed on Duckburg soil, there was no reason to waste time that should be used for their nightly routine. 

He brushed his teeth. Dewey and Louie brushed theirs under Huey’s strict tutelage.  _ Don’t forget to floss, and reach far back, Dewey. Dr. Weisberg says you need to hit those back molars. Louie, no, you can’t have chips after brushing and flossing.  _ By time he and  their brothers had completed their rituals, they headed to their beds, ready for sleep.

Wrapped like a burrito in his bed, Huey laid his head to rest. In about six seconds he’d be asleep. He counted them. One...two...three... _ Your uncle is a hero _ ...his brow furrowed, and his eyes parted. He curled deeper into his blanket and tried again. One...two...three... _ Your uncle is the best friend of Storkules _ ...the greatest hero ever known...again, he awoke, and this time, he sighed.

He stared at the ceiling. It didn’t make sense. It didn't make sense.

“Are you asleep?”

“Yes?”

Louie chuckled, “Answers my question then,” a bright light shone from his bunk, “what’s up? You’re usually asleep by eight.”

He wanted to scold him for taking out his phone at this hour. As Dewey’s snores rattled the walls, filling the uncomfortable silent spaces, Huey twiddled this thumbs.

“Louie...do...aren’t you worried?”

“Worried about what?”

“Uncle Donald.”

Louie was quiet, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he rolled on his stomach, reaching to the edge of the bed to look down at Louie’s bottom bunk, “he’s best friends with a god, and not just any god, but the Storkules!”

“Yeah, sure.” He glanced from his phone to look at him, “So, a lot of adults have friends, and if anyone needs ‘em, it’s Uncle Donald.”

“I’m really happy he has friends, but…,” grinding his teeth, he tried to recollect that feeling in his chest when the realization had settled in his brain. He preferred introspection, “Do we really know Uncle Donald?”

"What do you mean?”

“I mean.” He picked at his pajamas loose stitches, “He used to be an adventurer. He’s traveled the world, and Storkules is only one person he’s befriended. What else don’t we know?”

Huey was sensible; his uncle’s life before their birth wasn’t a ground-breaking revelation. Of course, his primary parent had a life before them. It was not only expected but natural. Huey didn’t often think of what Uncle Donald’s life was pre-them; he only had post-them as reference.

He accepted the figures of his uncle’s past readily. How could it get better than Storkules, one of the world’s greatest heroes, but now, he was left with questions he never thought he’d ask himself.

“It was kind of weird.” Louie whispered flatly, “Seeing him lunge at Storkules like that, and Scrooge said something about the good ol’ days.”

“Thank you!” Huey hissed, “I thought I was the only one who heard that!”

“Right?” His voice skipped a pitch, “Y’know, I always knew Uncle Donald had a temper, but like...he just jumped at him. And he’s really fast. Storkules couldn’t catch him, and Scrooge got the chance to get at ‘im.”

Uncle Donald hadn’t hesitated. Their overprotective, overly cautious, always look twice before crossing the street uncle leaped onto a demigod five times his size, and briefly gave him a run for his money. Louie and Huey stood dumbly to the side as the events unfolded one after the other.

Because this was not their Uncle Donald...this was not the uncle whose hand gripped theirs so tightly they blood rushing through his palm and fingers as they walked down the sidewalk. This was not the uncle who stuffed thick, oversized, smothering life jackets around them every time he left the houseboat. This was not the vigilante uncle, capable of circumventing any minor catastrophe roaming in their direction.

“It was weird,” Louie murmured softly.

He grinned, _no_ , smirked at Uncle Scrooge. He climbed and reached over Storkules body without restraint, punching and slapping. It was then they realized their uncle’s inhibitions were completely set on pause.

“He did something similar at Macaw.”

“But he had to.” Louie explained, “We were all in danger, and I...we had to push him. This, he went right into it.”

Something clicked in their minds in that moment, and they stared at the ceiling, at the screen.

“Louie?”

“Yeah, Huey?”

“I think we should ask Uncle Donald about this.”

“In the morning, right?”

“If you go to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

Huey rolled over on his side, snuggled in his blanket, and closed his eyes. A still quietness lulled him to bed, and off to sleep he went.


End file.
